“Follow him! Where?” inquired Mr. Tupman.

“To the Angel at Bury,” replied Mr. Pickwick, speaking very quickly. “How do we know whom he is deceiving there? He deceived a worthy man once, and we were the innocent cause. He shall not do it again, if I can help it; I’ll expose him! Sam! Where’s my servant?”

“Here you are, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, emerging from a sequestered spot, where he had been engaged in discussing a bottle of Madeira, which he had abstracted from the breakfast-table an hour or two before. “Here’s your servant, Sir. Proud o’ the title, as the living skellinton said, ven they show’d him.”

“Follow me instantly,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Tupman, if I stay at Bury, you can join me there, when I write. Till then, goodbye!”